Ghoul's 100
by GhoulsLegion
Summary: 100 stories based around Ghoul, the Joker's technical guru in Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker. Rating subject to change.
1. 001 Beginnings

A/N: Written by Lillith, AKA VectorCrocodileFangirl. This is the first of many prompts about our favorite character (as you can ascertain from our username), Ghoul. And these will NOT be in the order of the prompts list. Just fair warning.

This one shouldn't need much backstory, but this is where we'll put those kind of notes in the future. Basically, Ghoul is preparing to run away from home.

* * *

He looked in the mirror.

Skin bleached an unhealthy blue. Thin stitch tattoo's running across his body. Makeup extending from the sides of his mouth, across his face and to his jaw line, as well as around his eyes (mostly to conceal the dark bags under them from many sleepless nights). He'd found a shirt with a Jack-o-lantern design and green pants and had torn them, topping the outfit with the appropriate hat and pointed shoes, making him look like a scarecrow.

_This_ was the persona he'd been looking for. _This_ was Ghoul.

He'd gotten the name from a song he'd been listening too. It hadn't been one of his favorites; too slow, too mellow for his tastes. But he'd heard the word 'ghoul', and everything had fallen into perspective. So, after growing out his pale blonde hair (making sure it escaped the notice of his parents, not that they ever noticed him anyways), he'd put all of his energy into making his mental image of 'Ghoul' a reality.

It was better than he'd hoped. It was something out of one of his music videos—no, better. He looked like he should have been born like this. It fit him perfectly.

When his parents saw him, his mother nearly had a heart attack. His father yelled at him for a solid hour about 'preserving the family name' and how bad it would have been if one of the company's clients had seen him.

His younger sister Bethany, ever the snob, had tailed him around the house, continuously chattering about how much trouble he was going to be in, how surely he'd be disinherited, and the like. Truth be told, he heard none of it. It wasn't the same kind of selective hearing as most days; pretend to look interested, nod occasionally, etc. No, it wasn't like that at all. He'd stopped pretending to care because really, he didn't. He was done with the Winthorp name. All that was left was to throw together a few necessities and hightail it out of there. He highly doubted they'd come after him, or make any attempt to find him. With their second, perfect child still in their grasp, they wouldn't care about their 'disturbed runaway' son.

He'd managed to find an old Halloween bag—a plastic Jack-o-lantern—and filled it with the contents of the safe he had hidden behind a secret panel in his closet, where none of the housekeeping staff would find it. Smoke bombs, grenades, and assorted gadgetry, all with a ghastly monster theme. His collection had been accumulating over the years, some of it which he had made, the rest aquired by delinquents for a significant fee. The only use he'd ever had for his family's money. With the arsenal safely hidden in his pumpkin, and a small fortune in unmarked bills in hand, he was ready to leave. No need for anything else. There were no momentos or personal belongings worth weighing himself down. A clean break was better anyways; his family would forget about him soon enough. He wanted it to be that way for him, too.

So, without a clue as to what was waiting for him in the dark world outside of his even darker home, Ghoul left Stewart Carter Winthorp III behind, headed for someplace that, even with his new look, he'd have no trouble blending in.

Gotham.


	2. 066 Rain

**A/N:** Written by debatable. I'm pretty sure all that needs to be said has, well, already been said by the wonderful writer in chapter 1, so I'll cut to the chase.

Prompt no. 66, "Rain". Takes place a few months after the events of RotJ-- Ghoul and Woof, being the geniuses that they are, have broken out of jail and are living on the streets as they make their way on the run from Gotham, towards the bright streets of Metropolis.

* * *

"I think we need to stop."

The words were careful in a way they usually weren't-- cautious and slow, without a hint of tiredness or complaint. They even, maybe especially surprised Ghoul when they came out of his mouth.

He gazed upon the approaching rainclouds forlornedly, past the tops of the many buildings and barely squeezing their way past the skyline. Anxiety twisted in his gut, but he pushed the feelings away, back to somewhere that he'd never notice them.

Instead he thought, _cumulonibus calvus_. Old lessons, like tales ingrained in his mind, floated to the surface of his conciousness. Rain clouds. Soft, pattering droplets, nothing dangerous, nothing new. He focused in on the clouds above, now dusty with heavy grey shades-- water ready to fall.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Woof look up at him questioningly. True, they'd only been travelling for a few hours after oversleeping that morning, but neither of them could afford to get sick.

Not in this city. Ghoul had caught sight of every dirty, ragged face that passed them by; every glance that looked, even for a split second, like recognition. They were still too close to Gotham. Metropolis was still a long way away.

He had no clue where they'd stay tonight, but that was half the fun, or so he told himself. He tugged nervously at the strap of his bag, slung carelessly over his shoulder, which contained essentially the last remains of the only true life he'd ever known.

The factory was gone. Breaking out of prison had been tough, but it wasn't the breakout that plagued his memories-- it was the days of walking those hollow halls, the emptiness.

Like bad dreams, he pushed those thoughts away, too.

He awoke from his thoughts only when he heard Woof's plaintive whine. Blinking a few times, Ghoul looked over to where the hyena hybrid had stopped next to a set of nondescript cement stairs, tucked neatly away beneath an overhang. The building itself looked next to abandoned, but he wouldn't risk trying the door. One night out of the cold wasn't worth a week in a cell. He'd been there already; he knew. They couldn't be traced-- not after getting so close to true freedom.

Silently, Ghoul thanked whoever might be listening that this neighbourhood, like many of the others they'd visited, was too seedy to care about a genetically-mutated dog and his lanky companion. Odds are they'd seen worse, and anyway, were probably too cowardly to report them.

Not like there were any 'wanted' posters to guide whatever supposed good souls might want to turn a couple of criminals in. The media had, blessedly, kept quiet about the escape-- whether for their own reputation or not, Ghoul didn't care. Maybe some fugitives were more trouble than they were worth.

He followed Woof around to the side of the stairs, where an empty space, much like where one might find a storage area of some sort, sat open beneath the stone steps. It would provide shelther from the rain, at least.

The air felt damp around him-- he was sure they didn't have much time before they were soaked to the bone. Storms came and went like the flicker of a streetlamp.

Soundlessly, Woof crawled beneath the stairs and laid down on the dry ground. Holding back a sigh, Ghoul crouched and slid his way in after him.

It was relatively clean, all things considered. Sleeping on the ground was something he could deal with. He'd pulled off worse.

Kneeling for a moment in what little room he had, Ghoul rifled through the bag at his side, pulling out a threadbare wool blanket and a beanie, which he promptly shoved onto his head. The temperatures were already dropping-- and besides, he hated waking up with cold ears. He laid down on the rough ground, being careful not to lean too heavily on the bruises adorning his arm. Awkwardly, he pushed the blanket around before he managed to wrap it around himself in at least a semi-comfortable fashion.

Within moments, Woof had shifted closer, and Ghoul wordlessly leaned back into the soft, warm fur. He was being selfish, he knew-- hoarding all the warmth to himself, but he, for the first time in ages, felt safe.

The rain pattered away just inches from his head. Ghoul let out a breath and closed his eyes.


	3. 059 Food

**A/N**: Lillith here. Like Jess' last story, this takes place sometime after Ghoul and Woof's escape. Also, there IS an OC in this, one I've come to love since creating her for the sole purpose of this single story X3 Expect to see more of her.

* * *

Ghoul grimaced as his stomach growled loudly.

He and Woof had only been traveling for about a day without a full meal, and he'd gone much longer without eating after he'd left home, but apparently jail had softened him up, gotten him used to 3 squares a day.

Ghoul looked into his bag and sided. The supply of non-perishable foods was dangerously low, and they still had a lot of ground to cover. He stared into the near empty bag for a few more seconds before turning to look at Woof. The spliced hyena was looking rather thin and on the hungry side. But where would they find food? They were still too close to Gotham for comfort, and had no money.

Knowing that thinking about it would make him even hungrier, Ghoul decided to first worry about where they were going to stop for the night, noticing the sun dipping below the horizon. Luckily they were in a very decrepid part of whatever town they were in, a place filled with druggies and squatters, and all manner of criminals. People who wouldn't dare report them to the police.

There were two large, rather abandoned looking buildings with a narrow alley between them, almost completely shadowed and just wide enough for him to stretch his legs. Sitting against the wall far back enough that they couldn't be seen, Ghoul listened to the sounds of a street fight going on not far away as Woof curled up beside him, quickly falling asleep. The sounds of yelling and gunshots should have kept him awake, but instead he found he couldn't keep his eyes open.

* * *

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was the smell of food. And sure enough, there was an assortment of messily thrown together (but still quite appetizing considering how hungry he was) sandwiches. Woof was already wide awake and helping himself.

The second thing he noticed was that they weren't alone.

Sitting closer to the entrance of the alley, watching them intently, was a girl. She had her knees drawn up close to her chest and he head was resting on them, matted and dirty dark brown hair falling across her torn jeans. She looked young, maybe 9 or 10. He froze, but Woof seemed to be completely comfortable with her presence. He looked warily at the food.

"It's not poisoned, you know. You can eat it." The girl said. He was startled by her voice and nearly jumped. "Your friend there's been eating for 20 minutes and he's fine, isn't he? So go ahead." It _was_ very tempting, since he was starving. He picked up one of the sandwiches and took a bite.

He ended up eating more than half of the giant heap of sandwiches, he was so hungry. The girl sat there and watched them the entire time, never saying a word.

"You guys broke out of jail, didn't you?"

Woof and Ghoul looked at her, frozen. Was she going to turn them in?

"I saw you on the news a while ago, when you were arrested. I didn't think they'd let you out. So, _did_ you break out?" she asked. She looked at them closely. "I'm not going to turn you in. I just want to know."

Still unsure about whether or not to trust her, Ghoul and Woof exchanged a wary look. She merely sat there, waiting patiently for her reply.

Finally, Ghoul nodded, his mouth still full. She didn't pry any more. After all the sandwiches were gone, she rose to her feet and dusted herself off.

"Well, I better go." she said.

"Why'd you bring us food, anyway?" Ghoul asked. She looked at him oddly, as if the answer was obvious.

"I just thought you might be hungry, that's all." she said. "I saw you come into this alley last night. If you get hungry again, I live over there." she explained, pointing toa building across the street, at a window on the far left. She turned and smiled at them once before trotting back to the building, leaving them confused.

* * *

Although the promise of food was tempting, they didn't dare wait any longer in case someone decided they were brave enough to contact the police. Just a few hours later they left their alleyway and began walking down what seemed to be the only main road in the town, when they heard someone call out to them to wait.

They turned and saw the young girl running towards them, a plastic bag in her hand.

"I thought you might need something to eat on your way, seeing how much you guys ate earlier." She handed Ghoul the bag, which was filled to the bursting point with what seemed to be the entire non-perishable contents of a convienience store, from chocolate and granola bars to bottled water and carbonated drinks.

"Thanks, kid." Ghoul said, putting the contents of the bag into his own.

"No problem. My dad left some money for me after my mom died. I thought maybe I should spread the wealth." she explained. "And my name's Juniper. Or Juni."

"Well, seeya around, Juni." Ghoul said, as he and Woof turned to leave once again.

"Oh, and one more thing." she said. "Don't get caught."

"You'll be the first to know." was all he said in reply. Woof looked over his shoulder at her once, and she smiled and gently waved, before someone called her name and she ran back to her apartment building.

It wouldn't be the last time they'd meet Juniper, but it was one of the more memorable.


	4. 034 Not Enough

**A/N:** More from Jess. : Still tooling around with the same timespace-- Ghoul and Woof are closer to their destination by this point, but they've still got quite some travelling to go.

* * *

His map had said they were five miles away from Metropolis, but that was eight hours ago.

Between taking a wrong turn, getting lost, _realizing_ they were lost, and staying that way for quite some time, Ghoul realized with dull satisfaction that he'd collected enough sidewalk-given change to buy himself a coffee.

_Maybe._ If they hadn't increased the prices again.

Black. No sugar, no milk, no extra-large or no-fat hazelnut-and-brown-sugar-with-extra-cream or white chocolate mochas, just plain coffee. He forced his legs (having adjusted to the familiar pace of one foot in front of the other, don't cramp, don't hesitate) to stop in front of a rather battered-looking Starbucks.

Goddamned expensive Starbucks. He cursed every penny he handed out, but the caffeine, warm in his hands, was worth it. He tugged furtively at the ends of his gloves and tried to warm his fingers.

Woof waited patiently outside the shop, ears pricked attentively, never questioning, never complaining. They travelled the backalleys nowadays-- easier to pass by unnoticed in the rush and clamour of everyday life. Sometimes, when they felt particularly brave (or just particularly hungry), they'd venture out onto the louder, noisier main streets, though no amount of hunger could change their wariness of every sluggish car that passed them by.

Though Ghoul's mind used to run freely in the time between day and night, those twilight hours where everything was quiet and nothing was certain, nowadays he didn't have the luxury of picking his own schedule. This city didn't run on light and darkness-- it followed the flow of time charts and traffic lights, and nobody ever slept.

The bag at his side was a reassuring weight. He knew he looked homeless-- but then again, who didn't?

Ghoul wasn't a particularly poetic person, but he couldn't lie-- everyone in this city looked too desolate, too wrapped up in their lives to really have the chance to find a place they could call home. He fit right in.

They shared the coffee, like they shared everything-- little luxuries. It was a rare moment, being able to pretend everything was perfect and normal.

The pair of them rested in the same spot Ghoul eventually dropped the styrofoam cup, crumpling it underfoot. The alley wasn't the dirtiest he'd ever been in, but it was close.

He woke early, when the traffic was just a lethargic trickle on the streets, where the sunrise was orange and purple and the air was biting. He pulled his collar higher up and tried to focus on not freezing as he wandered the sleeping city.

But he couldn't go far. Woof, with all his senses and careful balances, would notice when he'd left. He had ten minutes, tops. Ghoul returned to the alley with a few coins in hand, but not enough to make any difference. Damn the rising prices to hell.

His eye had caught on a certain store, one which seemed familiar enough.

_Sorry, we're closed._

So he, with a sense of what could have been disappointment in himself, asked Woof if they could maybe wait a few hours until it opened. It's not like there was much of a chance they'd find their way out of this city without some serious scouting, anyway.

The store was only a few blocks away-- in a quieter, more neighbourly part of town, or as close to that as you could get in such a foul place. Ghoul stared at it with narrowed eyes from across the road, a little bit of remorse and a little bit of regret clouding his features.

"I'll just be a sec--" he started, but Woof had already ventured off, back into the safer shadows between buildings. For a moment, he glanced over his shoulder, eyes blank.

Ghoul's stomach twisted as he made his way across the busy street.

The door opened with a friendly jingle of bells, reminding him of bakeries and family-owned convenience stores, though the sign above the windows plainly said _Music Emporium_. Out of habit, Ghoul traced the scar tattoo along the back of his right hand, though it was covered by a fingerless glove. He could almost laugh at how much of his 'last' self he'd left behind in that burning factory-- the makeup, the attire, the cocky attitude, all gone and buried in favour of being able to roam the streets, free at last.

Stitches covered and facepaint washed away, he felt... cleaner, but not in any good way.

_Free at last, free at last, thank god I'm free at last._

Ghoul chuckled mirthlessly to himself and began to scan the shop.

The lights were bright, too bright for such an early hour, searing the backs of his eyelids, but still, he felt comfortable. Some wannabe new singer crooned over the radio-- not like he kept up with the hits nowadays-- soft enough not to disturb anyone who might choose to pick up the various instruments lining the walls. Pianos covered the main area, sleek and black and expensive-looking, guitars and violins and flutes lined the walls, waiting to be touched, daring any curious onlooker to reach out. Ghoul exhaled slowly.

A salesperson, some twenty-something who looked like she was barely out of college, appeared from one of the back rooms. She looked frazzled, but not frazzled enough to be unable to plaster a smile onto her weary face. "Hey, sir," she said, her casual tone completely contradicting whatever attitude she may have wanted to show-- because the customer knows best, except when the customer has no money, and she looked like she could tell. "Anything I can help you with?"

Ghoul gave her his best bright-morning smile (though it may have been a bit much, judging by the way she almost cringed-- but so what? He couldn't help it if days like this made him look a bit crazy) and shook his head. "Think I'll just browse for awhile." He wandered over to one of the closest pianos, sitting down on the cool wooden bench like he was meant to be there.

The ivory keys were in perfect condition-- he thought back to his mother's baby grand piano and all the lessons he didn't care for. Carefully, he pressed down a single flat note, an E flat, and his mind immediately went to years of school band, from clarinet to trumpet to keyboard to bass guitar. He played through a few scales, ones where the notes came readily to his fingertips-- B flat major, C contrary motion, A minor melodic.

He'd never been a particularly musical person; though listening to music was one thing he couldn't live without, playing it had never been his specialty. He'd embraced the faux-rockstar persona for a few months when he picked up a bass, and to some extent, every time he stroked away haunting melodies on the keys of a piano brought a sense of calm, but it was never his place.

Still, some songs never left his head.

He played whatever came to mind until his fingers ran out of notes and his mind ran out of tunes. He left the store a little bit more okay with the world in general.


	5. 061 Winter

**A/N:** By Lillith. Takes place while the Jokerz are working for the Joker, before the events of the movie.

* * *

If there was one season Ghoul truly hated, it was winter.

With a black trench coat over his usually threadbare clothes, he made his way through the slush, grumbling all the way. He wouldn't even be out in this weather if the stupid coffee maker hadn't busted that morning, leaving him without a solid dose of caffeine. And of course, no one would shell out enough to buy a new one, so he'd had to scrape together nickels and pennies to be able to afford his daily pick-me-up. Not to mention he had to slosh through the mushy remains of last week's storm.

He knocked on the candy factory's side door. Woof opened the door, greeting him enthusiastically. Ghoul gave him what remained of the coffee, and he quickly polished it off.

"Look who's finally back." Bonk said annoyedly.

"And _who's_ fault is it that I had to go out in the first place?" Ghoul reminded him. It had been a lesson to everyone to never let Bonk handle making coffee ever again. Bonk didn't reply.

He passed by the Deed's playing solitaire, and in the distance he heard Chucko using scrap metal for target practice. He didn't see Woof, but knew that he was off exploring the numerous rooms of the factory. Things around the Jokerz Playground, as the Deed's had dubbed it, were slow these days. The cold weather made everyone lazy.

He slipped into his room, hardly bigger than a closet and at the very back of the factory away from everyone else, and threw himself on the makeshift bed, coughing. _That_ was the reason he hated winter; he always got sick so easily. He hoped that it wouldn't be _too_ bad, but his expectations were low. He'd never been good at dodging the bullet.

Through the coughing and sneezing, he hadn't been able to get a good night's sleep. Not that he usually did, but still. Placing the back of his hand to his head, he felt for a fever. Yep. He was definitely burning up. He sighed and sat up, a coughing fit wracking his body. Collapsing back to the worn mattress, he pulled his blankets around him more tightly and shivered, in spite of the relative warmth of the factory.

He squeezed his eyes shut and silently cursed whatever deity had decided that it would be a good idea to dominate a quarter of the year with cold and sickness.

* * *

Nobody really noticed Ghoul's absence until Woof woke up and entered the main area, where the actual production line used to be before it was gutted. He knew better than anyone that Ghoul never slept late—mostly because he rarely slept at all. So he went to check it out.

He found him curled up in bed, shivering uncontrollably in spite of the warmth of the room. He turned and looked at him, his face red even through the skin bleach. He coughed pitifully.

"Morning." he said. "Or is it afternoon?"

Woof knew how easily he got sick, and was just glad that the one good thing that had come of his mutation was the inability to catch human virus'. Hanging out with Ghoul, he'd be getting sick left and right.

"Do you mind checking to see if we have any cough medicine?" Ghoul asked. He didn't want to trouble Woof, but he didn't feel well enough to get up and look on his own. And besides, Delia would have a _field day_ with his condition. Woof, however, didn't seem to mind in the least, and darted out of the room.

He beelined for the kitchen area, a mess of cabinets, rescued from trash heaps and 'borrowed' from furniture stores, along with rarely used mismatched appliances. Most everything that was communal was kept there, including the meds. He rifled through the cabinets, tossing aside half empty bags of chips and old magazines. Soon, though, he located the small glass bottle and a teaspoon that was clean enough to use. He rushed them back to Ghoul's room.

"Thanks." Ghoul said, taking the bottle and spoon. Carefully, he gave himself the maximum dosage, thankfully not spilling any on the already dirty blankets. He could already feel the uncomfortable tickle in his throat fading.

_Ah, the wonders of modern medicine._ He thought. _Twenty years ago, this would have taken an hour to kick in._

"Feeling sick, are we?"

Ghoul groaned. Delia. The last thing he needed.

"What's the matter? Don't want me here?" she asked.

"I don't really want you _anywhere_. But especially not here." he replied, his voice still scratchy due to the soreness of his throat from all of his coughing.

"I was wondering why doggie boy was going through the cabinets." she said, adjusting her cap. "Looks like poor old Ghoulie has a case of the sniffles."

"Go _away,_ Delia." he sighed. His fist closed tightly around the bottle, nearly breaking it. "You're the last thing I need right now."

"Well, if you're going to be that way, fine." she said, with a wave of her hand. "I've got better things to do than bug you, anyway. For now." And with that, she left. Ghoul had no doubt she'd be back. She'd never miss out on an opportunity to make fun of him. It was one of her favorite pastimes.

* * *

Deidre looked up from her 21st game of solitaire as her sister entered the room again.

"What's up, Dee Dee?" she asked.

"Nothing much, Dee Dee. Just paying a visit to the resident computer geek. He's holed up with a box of tissues and a bottle of cough syrup." she said.

"Ghoul is sick?" Deidre asked.

"Yeah. Why?" she asked.

"No reason." she answered. "Just wondering why he didn't show his face around here this morning."

* * *

Ghoul was more than surprised to hear knocking at his door. Nobody ever knocked before they came into his room. Well, Woof did. But Woof was the exception to the rule.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Deidre."

He hadn't been expecting that reply.

"Can I come in?" she asked.

"..sure."

Deidre backed into the room, her hands full, as she was carrying a beat-up looking serving tray. Balanced precariously on it was a steaming bowl of soup.

"I thought you might want some of this. Chicken soup isn't exactly a cure for the common cold, but it works well enough." she said, handing him the tray.

"What's with the miraculous change of attitude?" he asked.

"I know the feeling." she replied. "When we were kids, Delia always dragged me to all kinds of strange places. Sewers, swamps, any place she could find that look interesting. And I'd always get sick. I know how bad it feels."

"Thanks."

Being sick still sucked, but at the very least he didn't have to worry about help any more.


	6. 018 Black

**A/N:** Jess here. This is set a little bit before 'Beginnings', so basically, before Ghoul's run away.

* * *

A year ago, this was his world. He remembers now, clearly, his younger self standing before the very same bathroom mirror-- the paints may change, but the mirror never did, and it's grown cracked and dirty since then, with grime you can't wash away-- at age 14, 15, 16, watching himself grow older. Stewart was lonelier than ever before, and there's a moment he'll never forget:

Stewart blinks at himself, staring into a face he can't recognize. The charcoal eyes before him are dull and sleep-heavy. He runs a hand through his hair. Another day over-- maybe the nightlife will be more interesting.

Doubtful, he pulls his pack up higher on his shoulders, trying to look more awake. His collar is itchy against his neck-- he loosens it, and then unbuttons a few, too, pushing his sleeves up. At least he doesn't look _too_ boring.

A loud, tinny bell rings from outside the washroom's wooden door. The buses have probably already left, and he's here by himself, staring into a mirror and wishing the school had better air conditioning. His pale, pale face is flushed.

He looks like a ghost.

He waits until the last set of footsteps have faded until he gathers the courage to sneak outside.

--

He doesn't have time to go home-- no, not today, not yet. As he walks down the sidewalk, he dials his cell and leaves a message saying he'll be back late, making up some ridiculous story on the spot about school projects and group work.

If they buy it, they buy it. If they don't, he doesn't particularly care.

--

Lucky for him, the mall is only a block, maybe two away from the school, although in this heat, it doesn't really matter-- he'll sweat to death anyway. God, he must look like a drowned rat.

There are teenagers everywhere, milling about in little groups, looking bored and disinterested. The weather drives them here, just like it drove him here-- he can't complain, the cool air feels good against his skin. Pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache, he tunes out the noise and begins to navigate his way towards the dollar store.

If he'd known what a dollar store looked like 50 years ago, he wouldn't have been able to tell that they were considered the same store-- not at all. Dollar stores sell everything from caffeine pills to cheap 3-song recordings that you can pop into your ear like a headphone, to the typical, boring stuff, like junk food and plastic flowers and cutlery. He lives off dollar stores. They're all-purpose.

The cashier behind the desk is a 20-something brunette who's chewing gum in that obnoxious way that drives him nuts and flipping through a magazine. He ignores her, and heads for the aisles.

In his head, he names off the things he needs, list-format. If his thoughts were processed into words, they'd be in bullets. He likes lists-- they keep him organized in ways he so clearly fails most of the time.

Even years later, he'll still be a little embarassed about rifling through the sparkly nail varnish and pink blush of the makeup row just to find what he's looking for, but it's worth it, in the end. His fingers clasp around the things he needs, and he grabs one of those little paper bags they keep between the shelves, shoving them inside. The other things are harder to find, but not too hard that they take him more than five minutes. A bottle of painkillers is on the shelf next to the gummy worms, which he grabs too because, hey, sugar. The iced coffees are in the fridge at the back of the store. The sunglasses line the front racks. Polysporin is near the middle.

He eventually comes back to the girl behind the cash, dumping his stuff in front of her. She looks almost annoyed at him for interrupting, but rings him up nonetheless. He digs change out of his pockets, and he's off again.

--

The public washrooms are gross, even compared to those of his school (no matter how high-class, it's still a bathroom, and it'll be gross anyway). Lucky for him, there's no one else here, which is great, but he's probably only got a few minutes before some jerk wanders in. Stewart combs a hand through his blond hair and sets his things down.

First, he needs to check status, which is something he probably should've done while he was still at school, but really-- no time. Pressing the heels of his palms against the counter in front of the mirrors, he stares at himself.

There are bruises forming underneath his eyes, although one's a bit more noticeable and definitely not because of lack of sleep-- it's turning an ugly purple, and when he reaches a hand up, poking the skin gingerly, it throbs. Great. They always aim for the face.

His elbows are skinned, and his right wrist feels a little tender, but he's okay. He pulls the backpack down from his shoulders and leaves it beside the sink, rifling through it until he finds his change of clothes, and heads for the stalls.

As it turns out, his knees are bleeding, and he's ridiculously careful pulling his old pair of pants off and slipping the new ones on, because it _hurts_, damnit. He rolls the legs up as he heads back out, sitting down beside his pack to gently rub disinfectant onto the scrapes, ripping bandages open and pressing those down. Finally, he stands again, examining himself.

What first?

The facepaint-- it's always the easiest to apply. Grabbing a silver pot from inside the paper bag, he twists the lid off and dips a finger in. The black oil is something between liquid and dust, and it feels smooth as he gently rubs it in thick, dark circles around his eyes, being careful not to irritate the swelling that's slowly forming too much. When he's done, he looks like some sort of demented jack-o-lantern, with a wide grin and wider eyes.

With a tube of liquid eyeliner, he draws designs onto the backs of his hands, and then, with little flicks, stitches onto his arms and against his collarbone. The look isn't perfected yet-- it still looks a little sloppy, but it's getting better. He's never sure exactly where the stitches go, though, and so they always end up in different places.

The persona that stares back at him has a name, and in those first few moments, he feels elated, like he's finally someone and yet no one at all. He remembers naming himself, too-- in his bedroom, with the lights off and the city buzzing outside his window, he knew he wanted to be someone else.

And here he is, for maybe only the second? third? time, but he knows what he isn't, and it's amazing. He steps into the role like a new pair of shoes.

Ghoul pops a few painkillers and slings his backpack on again, grinning to himself all the while.


	7. 022 Enemies

**A/N:** By Lillith. Yes, short, I know. I just...really, really hate J Man. And his Jokerz. A lot.

Takes place just before the events of RotJ.

* * *

The nightclub was painfully ordinary.

Not that he'd been expecting much. After all, the gang that called themselves 'the Jokerz' were never known for being very original. So he just sat at the bar, waiting for the others.

Ghoul had thought he would have a mostly uneventful night. But the Jokerz had other plans.

One of the most well known faces in the Jokerz leagues was J Man. Dressed like the Clown Prince of Crime himself, J Man and his crew went around causing mayhem wherever he pleased. He and his gang were feared by most Jokerz. Not Ghoul's gang. Well, Chucko's gang, really. But either way, they weren't afraid of him.

So when he and his faithful followers entered the nightclub, still on their cycles, demanding applause for their entertainment, Ghoul just laughed.

"Did we _ask_ for laughter?" J Man asked in his most threatening tone of voice, as he tried to figure out where the laughter was coming from. Ghoul just laughed more. This guy was a real joker, all right. J Man approached the chuckling teenager with a maniacal grin. "If it's a laugh you want, we've got lots of good jokes. Did you hear the one about the obnoxious twerp who got slagged by a bunch of Jokerz?"

"A thousand times. Did _you_ ever hear the one about the Jokerz who got their asses handed to for being a bunch of wise guys?" Ghoul retorted, leaning back in his seat, his pose lazy and confident. They were taken aback by his reply, and looked to J Man, who was beginning to look a bit hot under the collar.

"You're a pretty funny guy. Too bad your jokes won't help you where you're going." J Man said. Ghoul wasn't intimidated in the least. He took a sip of his drink and turned his attention away from the Jokerz, instead choosing to stare off into space. "Heh heh...look at that, fellas. He's too scared to even look at me." Ghoul turned away from them and looked down the bar.

"Woof." he said.

"What did you say?" J Man asked.

"Woof." he repeated, turning towards the Jokerz.

"What're you, some kinda dog?" J Man asked, laughing. His Jokerz laughed with him.

"No." Ghoul said. "But you're about to be dog food."

Before J Man could think of a reply, something ran across the counter and smashed into him, sending him careening across the dance floor.

"Hey, what'd you do?" demanded Scab, grabbing the front of his shirt. Ghoul sneered.

"Have you ever heard of breath mints?" he asked, recoiling. Scab yelled and made to punch him in the face.

And had something jump on his back and bite his shoulder for his trouble.

Screaming, he flailed (at the same time letting go of Ghoul), trying to throw off whatever had jumped onto his back. Soon enough, it fell away. He whirled around to see what it was and was greeted with the sight of some kind of grotesque half human, half hyena creature.

"A splicer..." he said. He and the other Jokerz backed away as the creature advanced, snarling.

"Idiots, meet Woof. Woof, meet lunch." Ghoul said, moving over to the sidelines to avoid being backed into. He didn't even notice that J Man had gotten back up until the Jokerz leader had punched him in the face, sending him flying across the room.

"Not laughing no more, are ya?" he asked, somewhat maniacally. He pushed up his sleeves and advanced on Ghoul, preparing to beat him to a pulp.

"Hey now, I wouldn't do that if I were you." Ghoul warned, sitting back up.

"Why, are you going to _laugh_ at me some more?" J Man asked.

"No."

"But _we_ might."

Thin arms looped through J Man's, pulling him back and tossing him easily to the floor. He squealed in surprise. Standing over him were two teenage girls, with identical painted faces, identical orange, yarn like hair, and identical skimpy outfits on identical fit bodies.

"He's kind of handsome, Dee Dee." said one of them.

"I agree, Dee Dee, but we can't just let him push little Ghoulie around like that." said the other.

"You're right, Dee Dee." the other replied. "That's _our_ job."

As the girls proceeded to kick J Man around a little bit, Chucko and Bonk wandered away from the two girls they'd been 'talking' to and over to Ghoul.

"Up 'an at 'em, Ghoulo." Chucko said, extending his hand to the teen, who was stifling a bloody nose. Ghoul took it and the older man pulled him to his feet. "Letting the Deed's fight your battles for you? That's gotta be embarrassing." he said. Ghoul sneered at him.

"You'd rather I get thrown around like a pillow?" he asked. "Now, where's my hat?" Woof, who was clearly finished with J Man's other Jokerz (having deposited them in a neat pile in the middle of the dance floor), handed it to him. He put it on his head. "Thanks, buddy." The Deed's threw J Man towards them. He had a new black eye and was covered in scrapes.

"Who...who are you guys...?" he asked. The 6 of them stood in front of him, each with a smirk on their face.

"Just because you wear that costume, doesn't mean you can call yourself a Joker. What? Did you see an old history cube and think the Joker looked like a cool guy to dress up as? Well, here's a news flash; you ain't got _nothin_ on the Joker. You wouldn't even be a henchman to the Joker." Ghoul said. "We are the _real_ Jokerz, and you'd better remember it.


End file.
